I've seen it so many times now. Those raised eyebrows. That expression of surprise and general dismay (or disapproval?) on people's faces - yes, even my friend's - whenever I mention that I live in the small town of La Pine, Oregon.

There's a real stigma attached to this place. When they hear the word "La Pine", people cringe and automatically think of gun-toting rednecks in ridiculously oversized 4x4 trucks, twitchy speed freaks in the aisles of the local "Ray's", old single-wide trailers on densely wooded properties, and an ocean of senior citizens, driving real slow in their rusty 1970s sedans.

Never mind that I spend virtually no time in La Pine - all my friends and business connections dwell in swanky, overpriced Bend, 20 miles to the north. But I make no excuses. It's all true. I've seen it with my own two eyes.

Like yesterday. When in search of a few screws for a Burning Man art project, I decided to hit the ACE Hardware store in La Pine - and instead unwillingly stumbled into the local 4th of July parade.

There were tractors. Decorated tractors. Cops with cowboy hats and spurs on body-painted horses. Bad ass hot rods. The "Prairie Chicks" (a bunch of elderly ladies in red and purple) passing out strands of beads. Flush-cheeked cheerleaders. Random parade people throwing tootsie rolls. And a small horse-drawn carriage with a girl dressed in something resembling a Quaker outfit, sporting the sign "Old West or Bust". And all that in 100 degree heat.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

So I went home, ditched my art project, slapped on the bathing suit, took the big umbrella, sunglasses, beach towel, and the latest issue of "Wired", and went down to my river.

A cool, glittering band of water. Psychedelically-green grasses and bushes. Birds chirping. Fish jumping. PEACE.

I read about geek stuff, nibbled on a fresh turkey sandwich, challenged a crawdad to a casual boxing match (although he might have misunderstood it for an attempt on his life), floated with my eyes closed in the river, let my skin soak up the glorious sun. No sounds, no distractions. Total privacy.

It was DIVINE. Heaven on earth.

Right. That's why I live in La Pine.

I hear ya, sister.

I floated my white arse in the Lake near our small town the other day, with nary a soul around to see me. Shoot, I could've gone nekkid like you folks in La Pine! heh heh.

The quiet is amazing, isn't it?

PS - and thank you again and again and again for the sweets. Tonight will be the last of it, and I will again utter out loud how freaking cool you are.

Man, I sure do miss living out there.